


Blood Line

by MeltedMoonStone



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Magic, Mentions of Stabbing, War, mentions of self harm, some vague medieval magical time period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:35:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23936206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeltedMoonStone/pseuds/MeltedMoonStone
Summary: Let them reap the rewards





	Blood Line

**Author's Note:**

> this was supper spontaneous and really unrelated to anything. It's kinda based on a prompt about 'blood magic: the more blood drawn the stronger the power' and this epic prose poem-esque thing came to be

It’s all he could see, all he could hear

The flames  
The screams

The rumble of thunder  
The rumble of the enemy

The smoke

It’s all he could smell

The smell of death and decay so thick it clogged one’s nose, one’s throat  
The feeling of breathing in and not getting enough oxygen

It’s all he could feel

The feeling of dirt and grim caked across one’s hands, one’s arms  
Streaked across one’s eyes

The flash of light  
The glint of steel  
The flight of arrows

The sickening thud of it making its mark

The smell of iron   
(the smell of blood)

The sight of red flags  
Red flags and pale skin  
Red flags that once were white

Bodies for as far as one could see  
Some alive, some dead, some unrecognizable

The color of blood 

The color of blood, it fills his frame

And the fire, the screams, the rumble of thunder and the enemy,   
the smoke, the fog, the smell of death and decay,   
the smell of blood  
The dirt caked across his hands, streaked across his eyes  
The blood flowing down his back  
Some his, some not

The feeling of breathing in and not getting enough oxygen  
The feeling of heaving heavy breaths, and yet   
not getting enough oxygen

The feeling of desperation crawling up his throat  
The feeling of despair pulling him down to earth  
To hell

The feeling of all things known   
Gone 

Gone to the wind  
To the flames  
To the hands of human greed  
Destruction  
(human ignorance and fear)  
Gone to the unholy desires of all

The angels were demons  
And the demons were demons  
And all of existence has come to a halt

For what is there to exist in a field stained ruby red?

What is there to exist?  
In a place with no time

Has it beens days? Months? Years?

Has it only been a few hours?

The one he loved  
Slain

The one he cared for  
Slain

The ones he pushed through day by day for  
Slain

And what was he to do?

Fight for a king, pathetic and meager? (a king that turned him in?)  
Fight for a cause, unachievable? (the cause being his own death)  
Fight for his life? (what a life to keep)  
But what is left to live for?

What stops him from ending it all?

The whispers of “demon”  
Of “evil and unholy”  
The looks of disdain and distrust

The accusation of being the devil incarnate  
And thus he was no human, no better than a pig set for slaughter

But look

Look at the place, where the gods have been slain  
Where the concept of human  
Has been reduced to mindless slaughter  
Reduced to desperation induced berserk   
(you are no better than a pig set for slaughter)

Speak of the devil incarnate and look at yourself

He is no demon, no devil incarnate  
No evil being lesser than a pig

But for what? Why not?

Look where life has gotten him

Look at the haze of red  
As the land collapses  
And the numbers drop by thousands

Look at the ashes  
The feeble remains  
The pile of guts where stood once a temple

Look at the oceans of blood  
Of the life force they claim holy  
Look at the rivers of blood  
Of the thing they thought of so highly

Look at the way in which he grabs a sword  
As he cuts his own skin  
Carves the things they so fear into his being

What stops him from ending it all?  
(what stops him from being what they thought he was?)

From stabbing his heart,   
From drawing his blood

From letting it pool beneath him,  
In a mesmerizing show of the macabre

The reflection of his face  
In a pool of rubies

The cuts of his neck  
The remains of chains 

The red of his pupils

Is that what it was?

Was his vision red with blood, or with the thrum of power within him?

Was this what they feared?

The crackle of lightning at his feet  
The shaking of the earth at his hands  
The sight of the death coming back to life at his command

He stabs his own heart

And the roaring of screams, of enemies  
Of enemies closing in  
Trying with their very breath  
To harm, to kill

The aim to end him

Who for?  
For themselves?  
For a king, pathetic and meager?  
For a cause, unachievable?

Gladly  
He will gladly end it himself

For what is there left to live for?  
What reason does he have to hold back?  
To show mercy?

The mercy he has been shown? By who?  
The ones who showed mercy were dead

Because of him

What stops him from ending it all?  
(from being the devil incarnate?)

And he slices his flesh  
Lets his blood drain out  
Drains out his soul

As he calls forth every being of hell  
As he calls forth the ones who have taken their final breaths  
As he calls forth the strength of the winds left unchecked, of the all consuming fires set by themselves

He’ll show them

He’ll show them the definition of devil incarnate

The meaning of true evil, the meaning of casting a curse

Gladly  
He’ll gladly end it all

The very last shreds of humanity  
(of his sanity)  
Reduced to ashes

Isn’t it the truth? Is it not what they said? Is it not what they claimed he was?

So why not? Why not become the thing they so feared?  
he has nothing to lose anymore,  
they took care of that for him already

He has no restraint  
No morality can live in such a place  
And thus his has gone along with the rest of them

It has gone along with the cackle that escapes his lungs

The feeling of breathing in  
Of breathing in the smell of death and decay  
The smell of home

Oh, how it feels to let go

Isn’t what they wanted? Proof that he was bad? Proof that he was the harbinger of chaos and disaster and destruction and death?

Hadn’t they won?  
Had they not gotten the proof they so craved?  
Had he not become the very thing they accused him of being?

Why not let them reap the rewards?

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked it! tell me what you think in the comments


End file.
